


Unmasked

by antimone_ii



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Noncon, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, dramatic villain monologuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/antimone_ii
Summary: Something hungry in Norman rears its head - he hisses as Peter tosses his head back, squirming in his grasp like a little moth trapped in a web. "Men like me rule the world. The spider that bit you belonged to me, and by proxy, I should think you do too.”





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warnings **for kidnapping, noncon and descriptions of violence.

Norman can’t believe his luck. How _easy _it is to bring down Spider-Man with the simple knowledge of who he is behind the mask. His own son’s best friend, that same bright, naive boy who chirps polite hellos at him - the _bane _of Norman’s existence by night. It feels disappointingly easy, Norman considers as he stands over Peter’s sleeping body, his lip curled in disdain as the boy rolls onto his back, exposing his belly to the predator.

For a moment, Norman thinks maybe he’s gotten it wrong, how _can _sweet, naive, virtuous Peter Parker be Spider-Man? But Norman has never been wrong before. He stoops and plunges the sedative into the Parker boy’s neck and - for a heartstopping moment, Peter’s eyes snap open and he grabs at Norman’s wrist with a crushing strength - Norman’s face twists in pain as the bones of his wrist snap - but then the boy’s eyes unfocus, staring blearily up at him, and his face goes lax again, slipping into unconsciousness.

A thin smile spreads over Norman’s face. Well, alright then.

* * *

He strings the boy up in the lowest basement levels of OsCorp. Long chains suspend his skinny arms from the ceiling, but still Peter’s so small, his limp feet don’t even brush the floor. Some irrational, fatherly sense in him worries that Peter’s arms will be painfully sore when he wakes up - the Goblin crushes that stupid instinct as he cradles his own shattered wrist. He spends the next two hours hooking Spider-Man up to his readers, watching with satisfaction as all of his vitals slowly fill his monitors with precious data.

He injects a bit of his Goblin serum into his own arm as he waits for Peter to wake up, grimacing as the rapid healing resets his bones and power courses through his veins. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic, so Norman suits up and presses his metal goblin’s mask over his face, sharpening his blades as he waits.

When Peter comes to he groans quietly, the chains rattling as he shifts, then wakes fully, panic seeping into shaking breaths as he begins kicking feebly midair. Norman looks up, grinning from beneath his mask as he sets his knife down. “Spider-Man,” he greets him.

Terror lights up, delicious and raw in the boy’s eyes as he meets Norman’s gaze. The boy looks down at himself, seeing he’s been taken in civilian clothes and that irritating bravado he wears as Spider-Man is nowhere to be found. Strip the suit away, leave behind a shell of a hero. “Goblin,” he says in an unconvincingly casual voice. “Fancy meeting you in a creepy basement like this!”

“Always with the wit,” Norman sneers, standing and examining one of his blades. “You know, you aren’t nearly as annoying strung up and unmasked.” He points the knife under Peter’s chin, relishing the way the boy tilts his head up, breath coming in quick and shallow. “It suits you.” Norman applies a little more pressure, grinning shark-like under the mask when he pierces skin and the boy’s heart rate spikes on the monitor behind him.

“I’d love to stay and play your creepy sex dungeon games all day, but I got places to be,” Peter says, his voice high and tremulous despite his brave face. “So are you gonna give me the supervillain monologue, or should I start making fun of your Kermit costume?”

Snarling, Norman takes his blade in hand and slashes the boy across the face, watching in cold satisfaction as Peter goes quiet with shock, blood dripping down his cheek from the shallow cut. “I prefer you subservient and mild-mannered, Peter Parker.”

The boy looks up at him, terrified as he realizes the full knowledge Norman holds about his secret identity. “I dunno who that is,” he says, although his trembling voice betrays him.

Norman’s humor fades into annoyance - he has no interest in playing detective games with his prey. “I’m honestly pleased. A clever thing like yourself, top of your class, creative mind like yours, it makes sense. The snark and the _rudeness _\- that’s a part of your disguise, isn’t it?” He leans forward and grips Peter’s chin between clawed talons. He turns Peter’s defiant face from side to side, examining him like a prized animal. “I’ll keep this simple. I want to _learn _from you.” He waves to the row of monitors arranged behind Peter, gloating. “You are a wealth of data, Peter. You’re going to help me advance science far beyond what any of us _dreamed _was possible.”

Peter shudders, jerking his head back out of Norman’s grasp and sending the chains rattling in the cold laboratory air. “Not much to learn,” he says with that shaky bravado, jutting his chin out. “Some kind of mutant spider bit me, that’s all I know.”

“More lies,” Norman hisses, lunging forward and sinking his claws into Peter’s ribcage, dragging a pained yelp from his throat. “If I know anything about you Peter, it’s that you’ve got a mind for science - you can share what you’ve learned or I’ll _vivisect _it from your body.”

Tears spring to Peter’s eyes, beautiful red blossoming along his shirtfront where Norman’s claws have hooked into his tender skin. “I’m not telling you anything, Goblin,” he says with that same, dumb courage.

Norman sucks in a low breath, willing himself to be patient. This version of Peter is so plucky, so _irritating _compared to the demure, soft-natured boy he’d stolen from his son’s bedroom, the shy thing who defers to Norman Osborn, intimidated by his riches and power. He blinks yellowed irises slowly at Peter and realizes with a start, that’s it - break the boy back down to his basest personality.

He grips his goblin’s mask and slowly pulls it off, running long fingers back through his hair. “No more pretensions, Peter. You trust _me_, don’t you?” He leers at the boy, showing off his sharp fangs, a cruel laugh escaping his chest at the way Peter flinches, shrinking into himself.

“M- Mr. Osborn?” His voice is high and tremulous with disbelief, finally reduced to the sweet boy Norman’s much more familiar with. “You… There’s no way,” he says, but denial can only take the clever little thing so far.

“What else would I use all my considerable resources for,” Norman murmurs, casting the mask aside and letting the thin metal clatter to the lab floor, “if not for bettering mankind?” He reaches up and grips the thick chains securing Peter to the ceiling, dragging the boy forward and stepping into his space. “And you’re going to help me.”

The boy shakes his head defiantly, even as he kicks uselessly midair. “Please Mr. Osborn, I don’t understand, you have to let me go–”

“I don’t _have _to do anything,” Norman corrects him silkily, grabbing the boy around his waist and piercing his claws into his supple skin. Something hungry in him rears its head - he hisses as Peter tosses his head back, squirming in his grasp like a little moth trapped in a web. “Sweet Peter,” he coos, dragging his claws down the boy’s sides, shredding his tattered sleep clothes from his lithe body, “men like me _rule _the world. The spider that bit you belonged to me, and by proxy, I should think you do too.”

As Peter opens his mouth to protest, Norman tears the boy’s clothes from his shivering body with a grunt, exposing him to the frigid lab air. “_Mr. Osborn_!” Peter begs, his voice high and sweet with fright.

“Impressive musculature,” Norman observes, stepping back and letting Peter swing pathetically from his chains, appraising him like a particularly interesting data set. “I always wondered why you insisted on wearing a shirt when Harry invited you to his little pool parties. Always figured you were just a shy boy, but I suppose I was mistaken.” He shrugs, picking up his tablet and scrolling through his data.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Peter beseeches, twisting midair and trying to curl in on himself as Norman circles him with the tablet, rendering a 3D model of his body.

“You’re very bad at bargaining,” Norman says distractedly, watching as the 3D model loads onto his monitors. “You won’t be able to tell anyone if I keep you down here, or if I choose to silence you permanently.” Satisfied with the rendering, he swipes through his findings and gives Peter a thin-lipped smile. “You’re supposed to offer me something I wouldn’t be able to attain myself. You _really _should have taken me up on my offers to coach you in negotiating.”

He sets the tablet down, circling Peter once again, this time drinking in his shaking form for his own pleasure. It gives him a sick thrill, seeing Spider-Man helpless and trussed up - just another OsCorp property for him to play with - and Norman can’t say he’s altogether surprised by the jolt of arousal that courses through him when he considers the identity of his prey.

And as he said himself - Peter won’t have anyone to tell. So he indulges himself, steps up behind Peter and wraps an arm around his waist, pulls the boy into his chest and inhales at the nape of his neck.

The miserable little squeak Peter makes goes straight to his cock, and he reaches down, kneading at thick, muscular thighs with his clawed fingers. “I’ve wanted to do this for a _long _time,” Norman confesses in a raspy voice, teething at Peter’s shoulder with a low groan. “Watching the way you flit around my penthouse, so grateful and so polite to your elders? _God_, I wanted to make you squeal.”

Peter shakes his head violently, whimpering as Norman licks a hungry stripe up the side of his throat.

“I wouldn’t have, of course,” he says, “stupid mistakes like that are how men fall out of power. But now? _This_?” He drags a sharp claw over one of Peter’s pink nipples, laughing when he sobs, kicking his legs feebly in the air and sending the chains clinking above them. “Finally discovering the face behind Spider-Man? Peter, you can’t _imagine _how many times I’ve fantasized about humiliating Spider-Man, torturing him, murdering his family in front of him–” Peter wails out a desperate little ‘_No_–!’ and shakes his head harder, knocking his skull back against Norman’s chest, “–and then I find _you_?”

He groans, pulling Peter’s body flush against him and letting him feel the clothed bulge of his erection, pressing himself insistently into the crease of his thighs.

“I think,” he murmurs, tracing a thumb over the wet tears streaking down the boy’s face, “I’ve found a torture method that you and I will _both _find more agreeable.”


End file.
